


A little madness

by RavenTheJoker



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenTheJoker/pseuds/RavenTheJoker
Summary: Sheogorath pays visit to Ilbereth, the Champion of Madness, soon after Jyggalag's defeat.





	A little madness

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas gift for HeroesOfTamriel.
> 
> Murr Cristler!

_"I will take my leave, and you will remain here, mortal. Mortal...? King? God? It seems uncertain. This Realm is yours. Perhaps you will grow to your station. Fare thee well, Sheogorath, Prince of Madness..."_

 

"M-my Lord?"  
"Madness."  
"P-pardon?"  
"IT'S IDIOTIC," Ilbereth shouted at the top of his lungs to the surprise of the two bickering men, as well as all other citizens of New Sheoth gathered for the audiences.  
"Give him the damned chicken, and get out of my sight!"  
With that, the new Madgod stood up, walking towards Thadon's gardens, unspecified rage swelling inside him. Behind him, he could hear the ruckus this has caused, as well as Haskill's voice, slowly fading, calming the crowd down...

He shut the garden doors behind him, the lock immediately clicked and locked. Was it his newly gained powers, or was this place itself reacting to his needs and wants... nearly a week after becoming the Madgod, he still wasn't sure. He grabbed the bow Syl had awarded him. Something shimmered in the corner of his eye. He turned, and saw a wooden practice target. Was it always there? No matter.  
Arrow after arrow sank into the target with dull thuds. He channelled his rage into the act. It managed to calm him down, enough that his thoughts could flow slower for a while. He never wanted this. Escape, ( _thud_ ) that is what he wanted. After all he's lost, ( _thud_ ) the bullshit standards society had set for him ( _thud_ , _thud_ ). He could live out his days here, ( _thud_ ) he thought, ( _thud_ ) he never wanted ( _thud_ _thud_ _thud_ )-

"Thadon would be horrified if he saw you here with a bow."  
The moment Ilbereth heard the voice, his heart stopped. His fingers released the knocked arrow which wooshed past the target- but it jerked to stillness before it hit any flora. Ilbereth stared at it, not truly wanting to turn and find the source of the voice. To his displeasure, it spoke again.  
"Pierce a vine here, scratch a trap there, and even this garden might turn against your better judgement."  
The arrow started floating in Ilbereth's direction, and he snapped his head sideways; besides him stood the previous Prince of Madness, Sheogorath himself... or- no. It couldn't be. Could he-  
"You're dead."  
The Madgod blinked, as if taken aback by the accusation. "Am I, truly?"  
"You should be. He said that. He said you're gone, that I'm here-"  
"And you intend to just take words as they come?"  
"Then what-"  
"Haven't I told you?" Sheogorath leaned in, his face nearly touching Ilbereth's. At that moment, he looked nearly threatening. "I'm in all of you, little mortal. Well..." he straightened himself again, "Not a mortal anymore, are we?"  
Ilbereth realized his breath has stopped. He forced his lungs to work again, not that they needed to. The Madgod was dressed just like the last time he saw him. Tall, gracious, mad. And not the slightest bit threatning. No, Ilbereth realized, this was something else. No, the percieved threat was his confusion playing tricks. No, what he felt was peace, familiarity, even certain power over the old god.  
"No." Ilbereth looked at the bow in his hands. He looked into his mind, slowly approaching the swirling chaos within. "Not a mortal anymore."  
"Very well! Then-"  
"But how!?" Ilbereth's eyes shot upwards, piercing Sheogorath. "Why and what and when!? You're still here, I killed you!" He yelled, throwing his bow at him. Harmlessly it bounced off of his chest.  
The Madgod – or what must've been him – stepped over the bow. He extended his arm and touched Ilbereth's head...

 

He saw the shape of a door. Only the idea of mass, hanging thin in the air. He circled it a few times. Transparent? Nonexistent. A thin pane of blending realities. His body went straight through. His mind pushed successfuly. Or, rather, the door successfuly pushed against it. Like having his brain pushed out by a thin strip of lemon wrapped around a golden brick.  
He struggled to open it, the practice of grabbing things with his mind not all too familiar. Soon, however, it was all but far away. He entered, cautious. One foot through. Nearly slipped on the surface. Other foot. Struggling to keep his footing. And then, he was inside...

 

Stained trees, oddly coloured sky, landscape that defied all logic, butterflies. It was warm, warmer than he had expected. Cold, colder than he had expected.  
"More physical, really," he said- wait, did he? Startled, he looked around. Everything resonated with him. Understandably so, he supposed – he was inside his own mind, afterall. Still, it was a strange feeling. His own thoughts floated around, faint yet he could hear them clearly. Everything had a red tint of his anger, yet he barely felt it.  
"Never imagined this is what my mind would be like," one such passing thought mused. Stranger yet it was, talking without his lips needing to part.  
"Yours?" the Madgod spoke. He, too, was now nothing but a voice. "Yours, well, a friendlier version of such. Minds deep down confuse minds up above. Shallowness of perception likes not the complexity of subconcious. Forests? Yes, much friendlier to the untrained mind."  
Ilbereth looked around. They stood atop a hill of smooth grass; beneath, a great forest was spreading. The trees were not evergreens nor nevergreens, something inbetween he assumed. Seemingly random trees grew to hundereds times the size of the others. Some even floated in the sky, their roots nothing but clouds.  
"You created this from my mind?" the forest asked, a little more harshly than he may have wanted.  
"To the last detail," the Madgod snickered. "Took a whole week, too! Not easy to sculpt in this state, you know."  
Passing wind gave a weary sigh. "All questions and no answers, old man."  
"Oh I left so abruptly. So much fun to never have been had. Too much to learn. And it's good to know oneself intimately. I sense the tension, you know. So anxious to explore. Walk, then."  
His legs moved, not of their own accord, but not purely of his. He nearly tripped and rolled down the hill. His eyes were more cautious, slowly taking in the visuals of his abstractions. The red tint of the air changed as well, shiftin instead to violet.  
Treebranches twisted round, intertvined. Treebark was dull rainbow, leaves stereotypically green. And the butterflies. Purple and golden wings fluttered everywhere, sometimes covering entire rocks or trees.  
"Everything seems so mad... Why is my forest mad, I wonder?"  
"Madness is in all of us, little godling. In all mortals. Such beautiful predisposition. It flutters and twists in their minds. Your new post, in all hope, is taking steps of enrichment."  
"Can't be a Madgod without the Mad... Why even be a Madgod."  
The world's tint swayed to indigo as he reached a meadow. Treestumps strewn around, and on them, people- no, no, the stumps were the people. They all smiled and cheered when they saw him.  
"Hero!" "Our hero!" "The champion is here!" They called. Their voices pierced his ears like sharp knives.  
"Stop." the grass hissed. "I never wanted-"  
The stump people began shuffling towards him. "Hero! The hero is here!"  
"I'm not-" the clouds spoke through gritted teeth, "I never intended to-"  
They were upon him, words lost, wooden limbs tearing into his clothes and flesh.  
"It's not something I want to do!"  
He pushed them all away his wounds nevermind. He ran away, shaking off their barky fingers. Blood has soaked his clothes and dripped to the ground. Pain was secondary, he just ran.  
"I never wanted it..." he weeped.  
"Never?" again, Sheogorath's voice was there. "Never... yet the deed has been done. Why go through with such?"  
"If you had only told me-"  
"Would you have done it differently? Served a God less, served a man you loved less? You could never, little god. To forget, or to love, you never could."  
For the tears in his eyes and the deep blue of the world he nearly missed another door. A door that made him stop in his tracks, so familiar.  
"Mother?" The door gasped as it opened. Ilbereth entered what was his birthplace. The old familiar house, the old familiar smell, a figure wrapped in sheets. He knelt to the bedside.  
"Your life is extraordinary, little god. Was it fate, or was it chance? Either way, the shape of your path was certain. You always knew, deep down. Your mind knew the end and still you continued to serve. From love? From madness?" Sheogorath grinned, "Little difference."  
Ildereth tore the sheets away. A dry scream heaved its way out of his throat. Tears filled his vision, burning coals floating from his eyes. Blood was warm on his hands as he held the corpse of Martin Septim.  
"Actions have consequences. Duty, purpose. There are things we cannot escape." Despite being a disembodied voice, the Madgod could feel Sheogorath smile. "You'll grow into your post, little Madgod."

 

Then he was back. Kneeling in the gardens, tears streaming down his face.

There were no audiences the next day, nor the day after. On the third day, the Madgod was on his throne again, bloodshot, swollen eyes nevermind. Sheogorath had disappeared for good, but the door he had created remained.  
And there was still much to be learned for this new Prince of Madness.


End file.
